Vaccine

by Dale Jensen

when the virus had worn itself into history
the wolf emerged from his hiding place
and bought a trinket from the kid down the street 

someone had used chalk
to make a picture of paradise on the sidewalk 

the artist next door dressed for summer
summer was something the wolf
had thought had gone away forever
eaten by a microbe even smaller than a snowflake
but here it was    summer    or something like it
with not even any cold winds

the wolf didn’t need cold winds
this must be a dream after all that the virus
had done to the world the last year

if the wolf were asleep he’d have to turn over
but when he tried to turn over all he could do
was spin    people thought he was dancing
and started to dance too    soon someone
was playing music and the whole world thought it was happy
the wolf was happy too    vaccine
he didn’t even think of cows
or of lambs for dinner

Dale Jensen was born in Oakland, California, and has degrees in psychology from UC Berkeley and the University of Toronto. He has seven books and four chapbooks out, has co-coordinated several poetry reading series, and edited the poetry magazine Malthus. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

When the Media Say Health Care Workers Are on the Front Lines in the Battle Against COVID-19

by Matt Hohner

         for Antoinette Antetomaso

I think of my grandmother, a nurse
in a U.S. field hospital in Europe
in WWII. She would remind us
every conflagration is absorbed in
injury by people, suffered by scarred
survivors and uncountable dead. She
steely green eyes, teach us the difference
between fighters and fixers, that health
care workers wait behind the front lines to
receive us with medicine and grace in our
most graceless hours. She would show us
with hands that bathed wrist-deep in chests
of shredded men that we are the soldiers
in this most personal of battles, our bodies
the front lines of a war against an unseeable
foe, silent invader of lungs and throats, that
we expose ourselves to a crossfire hurricane
of infected breath and touched surfaces each
time we venture out, that our homes are bunkers
against the spread. She would tell us to hunker
down and wait for a needle of mercy in the arm,
a cease-fire of safety signed with a syringe, for
church bells and sirens to herald the all-clear.

Matt Hohner, a Baltimore native, is a local, national, and international award-winning poet, and has been published in numerous journals and anthologies. An editor for Loch Raven Review, Hohner’s book Thresholds and Other Poems, his first full-length book, was published by Apprentice House Press in Fall 2018. Hohner has held a residency at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, made possible by a grant from the Mid Atlantic Arts Foundation. He was recently awarded second place in the 2021 Fish Publishing International Poetry Contest in Ireland. His second collection of poetry will be published by Salmon Poetry in 2023. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

Pandemic Color

by Rosie Prohías Driscoll

Mami loathes the overgrowth
of gray framing her face

darkness skimming shoulders.
Unable to bear another day

she summons her sister:
Ven – ¡que ya no puedo más!

Tía arrives, box of L’Oréal
Excellence in hand, bickering

about Mami’s life choices, today
the shade of light ash brown

that will only accentuate
her wrinkles.

Together they enter the bathroom,
take their places.

Tía quiets herself
lays gloved hands upon

her sister’s bowed head
combs color into thirsty roots

then exits, does not wait
the thirty minutes it takes

to witness the miracle
of Mami emerging

like Lazarus
risen to life.

Rosie Prohías Driscoll is a Cuban-American educator and poet living in Alexandria, Virginia. Her poems have appeared in numerous online and print publications, including The Acentos Review, Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art, SWWIM Every Day, Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality and the Arts, Sin Fronteras/ Writers Without Borders, and No Tender Fences: An Anthology of Immigrant and First-Generation American Poetry. In 2020 she was a finalist for the Orison Poetry Prize. Her first full-length poetry collection, Poised for Flight, is forthcoming in 2022 from Finishing Line Press. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

Sequestered with You

by Bob McNeil

It matters less

now that dark curtains

veil our view.

In isolation

days, elliptical as haiku

end quickly,

yet our nights

scroll out to an epic length.

The season dons dour hues

that contrast

with the carnival-celebratory shades

dancing to our upbeat bond. 

Long before the seasonal coldness,

the world became frigid from fear. 

Under the covers,

our oasis,

we kiss

and disregard every part

of the outside.    

Bob McNeil, writer, editor, cartoonist, and spoken word artist, is the author of Verses of Realness. Hal Sirowitz, a Queens Poet Laureate, called the book “A fantastic trip through the mind of a poet who doesn’t flinch at the truth.” Among Bob’s recent accomplishments, he found working on Lyrics of Mature Hearts to be a humbling experience because of the anthology’s talented contributors. Copies of that collection are available here. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

Bed

by Tricia Knoll

Of all the curled up, blanketed-down places
this is the cuddliest under the gray duvet
and my “Walk in the Garden” quilt
made by the El Rito quilters to raise
money for their library – cotton strips 
of moss-green leaves and French pink, 
or dried-blood red roses, some burnished
gold understates a promise that the now outside
of two-feet of snow, an unplowed road,
and scatters of cold chickadees will feel melt
and fuchsia peonies will find a way.

Find a way when today there is nothing
to do, no place to go, and if there were,
I’d stay to hear the boiler rumble.
The mask I have to wear is nowhere
as lovely as the quilt, my body warmth
that begs me to sleep it away, all day. 

Tricia Knoll is a poet in Vermont (U.S) who spent this last year alone in a house in the woods birdwatching, snow-watching and writing poetry. Her poetry collection, Checkered Mates, came out in April 2021 from Kelsay Books. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

What He Could Control of COVID

by Eric Forsbergh

My physician friend Majid
took up santour,
his grandfather’s instrument
graced across his lap.
He says it helps him contemplate

the slope of death. Before,
the old instrument sat propped
in the corner like an elderly relative
who’s visiting: antique, passé.

Today my friend Majid began to play.
His initial notes? How awkward.
For now. But in full flight,
how eloquent the hammers, even to

their slender stalks and felted tips
as delicate as sparrow’s legs. In time,
he’ll play it for his children, to narrate
the century from the last great pestilence

to this.

Eric Forsbergh‘s poems have appeared in JAMA, Ponder Review, Artemis, Zeotrope, The Cafe Review, The Journal of Neurology and other venues. Nominated for a Pushcart by the Northern Virginia Review, he is currently volunteering as a vaccinator against COVID for the Loudoun County Public Health Department in Virginia. He is a Vietnam veteran and has served on medical mission trips to Guatemala and Appalachia. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

The Great 21st Century Poemic

by Trudi Lee Richards

It struck one day
out of the blue, 
cropping up all at once
in random spots
all across the planet

The first known cases
were a small boy
in Lincoln, Nebraska,
whom his mother found
one morning
reciting strange
and beautiful words
a small smile
on his small face
and
a grandmother
in Melbourne, Australia,
who was caught
that very same day
wandering the aisles
of a department store
reciting verses
from the Tang Dynasty

After that
the Poemic spread
lickety split
leaping like lightning
across whole oceans 
and continents

In London 
a mother of six woke up
spouting Tennyson
and in no time 
her entire family was babbling
in iambic pentameter

In Buenos Aires a family
was stricken
with the odes of Pindar
in the original 
ancient Greek

In Beijing
a whole neighborhood
was infested 
with Billy Collins

And so it went.
How the Poemic was able
to spread itself 
so far and wide
so fast
no one knew

At first 
it was thought to be passed
simply through the spoken word
but soon 
infectious particles
were discovered
hitching rides on sound waves,
in rays of light
and even nestled
in random thoughts

Scientists also knew
that however it flew
it was always spewing out 
more and more spores
that would land
take hold
and grow

It was only 
a matter of time
before the entire economy
of the world
had settled
into a deathly peaceful lull.
In the factories
no one stood on the assembly lines
In the banks 
no one begged for loans
or doled them out
In the schools
no one taught the state curriculum
and no one was bored

Day after day
everyone
everywhere
simply dreamt the time away
to the murmured
declamation
of immortal poetry
both ancient
and new

Everyone assumed
that soon
the infection
would burn itself out
and things would go back
to normal

But instead
the Poemic only settled in
with a happy gurgle
sinking its teeth
deep into the tender underbelly
of the human genome 

And so it went
for days
and weeks
and months
and years…

Suffice it to say
that to this day
no known victim
has ever recovered

This is perhaps
a loss for History
but all things considered
no one
seems to be 
complaining

Because
after the first onslaught
things began to change
in quite unobjectionable ways

People began to go about their days
speaking in poetry
and fixing things
and before long
no one was going hungry
no one was left out in the cold
no one sick was left uncared for
no one old was forgotten
no one sad was ignored
no one anywhere
was afraid
of dying lonely
and alone

Instead
people sang
while they made soup 
and someone
was always baking cookies
Farmers smiled
at their cows
and hummed 
while they fertilized their fields
Scientists 
stopped scorning testimonies
of life after death
Physicians healed
by laying on of hands
Chemists formulated
harmless potions
that dissolved pain
Teachers
led children into the fields
to study bugs and flowers
and wade in streams
and catch pollywogs
Young people studied 
what they loved
and got paid 
in poems

That was how it happened
that people stopped hurting each other
and simply did
what needed to be done,
and when the time came for rest
they sat together on porches
and admired the way
the dust motes danced
in rays of the sun

And little by little
in every place
every last member 
of the human race
began to wake up each day 
with a smile on their face
happy and peaceful
in every way
for no rational reason at all.

La Gran Poémica del Siglo XXI

Apareció un día
inesperadamente,
surgiendo como un todo
en distintos lugares
por todo el planeta

Los primeros casos conocidos
fueron un niño pequeño
en Lincoln, Nebraska,
a quien su madre encontró
una mañana
recitando extrañas
y hermosas palabras
con una pequeña sonrisa
en su carita
y una abuela
en Melbourne, Australia,
quien fue atrapada
ese mismo dia
vagando por los pasillos
de una tienda departamental
recitando versos
de la dinastía Tang

Después
la propagación poémica
seguramente se expandió
saltando como un rayo
en continentes enteros
y océanos

En Londres
una madre de seis se despertó
escupiendo Tennyson
y en muy poco tiempo
toda su familia estaba balbuceando
en pentámetro yámbico

En Buenos Aires una familia
fue golpeada
con las odas de Píndaro
en el original
de la Grecia antigua

En Beijing
todo un barrio
estaba infestado
con Billy Collins

Y así sucedió.
Cómo pudo la poémica
extenderse
tan lejos, tan ancho 
y tan rápido
nadie supo

Al principio
se pensaba 
que era transmitido simplemente 
a través de la palabra
pero pronto
partículas infecciosas
fueron descubiertas
montandose en ondas sonoras,
en rayos de sol
e incluso acurrucados
en pensamientos dispares

Los científicos también sabían
que a pesar de volar
siempre estaba produciendo
más y más esporas
que aterrizaban
se expandian
y crecian
en cualquier lugar

Era sólo
cuestión de tiempo
antes que toda la economía
del mundo
se había instalado
en una tregua mortalmente pacífica.

En las fábricas
nadie se detuvo en las líneas de montaje
en los bancos
nadie pidió préstamos
y nadie los repartió
En las escuelas
nadie enseñó el plan de estudios estatal
y nadie estaba aburrido

Día tras día
todo el mundo
en todas partes
simplemente soñaba el tiempo
a la murmurada
declamación
de poesía inmortal
antigua
y nueva

Todos asumieron
que la infección
pronto
desaparecería
y las cosas volverían
a la normalidad

Pero en vez
la poémica se instaló
con un feliz gorjeo 
hundiendo sus dientes
profundamente en el tierno vientre
del genoma humano

y asi sucedió
por dias
y semanas
y meses
y años ...

Basta decir
que hasta el día de hoy
ninguna víctima conocida
se ha recuperado

Esto es quizás
una pérdida histórica
pero considerando todas las cosas
nadie
parece estar
quejandose

Porque
después del primer ataque
las cosas empezaron a cambiar
de manera bastante inobjetable

La gente empezó a su rutina diaria
hablando en poesía
y arreglando cosas
y en poco tiempo
nadie pasaba hambre
nadie se quedó afuera en el frío
nadie se enfermó y se quedó sin cuidado
nadie de edad fue olvidado
nadie triste fue ignorado
y nadie en ningún lugar
tenía miedo
de morir solo

En cambio
la gente cantaba
mientras cocinaban
y alguien
siempre estaba horneando galletas
Los agricultores sonrieron
a sus vacas
y tarareaban canciones
mientras fertilizaban sus campos
Científicos
dejaron de despreciar los testimonios
de la vida después de la muerte
Los médicos sanaron
por la imposición de manos
Los químicos formularon
pociones inofensivas
que disuelven el dolor
Profesores
llevaron los niños a los campos
a estudiar insectos y flores
y a vadear arroyos
y capturar sapos
Los jóvenes estudiaron
lo que más deseaban
y fueron remunerados
con poemas

Así fue como sucedió
que la gente dejó de hacerse daño
y simplemente hizo
lo que se necesitaba hacer,
y cuando llegó el momento del descanso
se sentaron juntos en los porches
a admirar la forma que
las partículas de polvo bailaban
en los rayos del sol

Y poco a poco
en cada lugar
hasta el último miembro
de la raza humana
comenzó a despertar cada día
con una sonrisa en su rostro
feliz y pacífico
en todos los sentidos
sin ninguna razón especial.

Trudi Lee Richards is a poet, writer, singer-songwriter, mother and step-grandmother of several wonderful humans, and a member of the Community of Silo’s Message in Portland, Oregon. Published work includes Confessions of Olivia; On Wings of Intent, a biography of Silo; Soft Brushes with Death; Fish Scribbles; and Experiences on the Threshold. Her work can be found at Winged Lion Press Cooperative, on her youtube channel, and on the Winged Lioness Podcast, a new podcast about rebelling against Death. Fernando Aranguiz translated the poem into Spanish. Fernando Aranguiz lives in Portland, Oregon. He writes from time to time. His poetry and fiction over the last 22 years has dealt with the subject of intuitions, aspirations, internal realities and the existential. His work is an expression of a search based in general on Siloist thought and in particular on Silo’s Message. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.

sociability (2020)

by Felicia Sanzari Chernesky

on this meek and mild morning
in our sudden isolation
I am staring out my window
while a doe is Sunday strolling
through a neighbor’s greening lawn
followed safely at a distance
by her spotted new world fawn

Felicia Sanzari Chernesky is a longtime editor, slowly publishing poet, and author of six picture books, including From Apple Trees to Cider, Please! and The Boy Who Said Nonsense (Albert Whitman & Company). In 2018 she moved away from the masthead of an academic quarterly to work with people who want to share their stories, ideas, and poems in print. Her poetry received a 2020 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards honorable mention. Her fiction has been nominated for a 2021 Pushcart Prize and Best Microfiction Award. She lives with her family in Flemington, New Jersey. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.   

Eighty Percent

by Sheila Wellehan

People wondered why anyone
would drink hand sanitizer.
The response to the headline
CDC says people are dying
after drinking hand sanitizer
was ridicule. The news of impaired vision
and seizures, hospitalizations and deaths,
prompted funny gifs and emoticons
as well as witticisms like
Let them drink it. Kill the stupids.

Decades after leaving rehab,
the first thing that hit me
when I read my prized bottle’s label
was its alcohol content.
If I’d never gotten sober
and I was broke or stores closed,
hand sanitizer would be a tempting beverage –
eighty percent alcohol
would have a nice kick.
Eighty percent might just do the trick.

Sheila Wellehan‘s poetry is featured or forthcoming in The Night Heron Barks, Rust + Moth, Thimble Literary Magazine, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Whale Road Review, and many other journals and anthologies. She lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.   

After March Blew in like an Unholy Wind

by Margaret Koger

Summer, fall, winter …
January 2021 and I’m looking out a window

Where I see a flock of cedar waxwings
resting on the branches of the poplar tree.

For months and months, I’ve been reading
A tale of boys by my side today

Boys whose mother dies of the 1918 flu—
And birds, eyes masked in black, red wingtips

The brethren sail from limb to sinuous limb
Pause to drink from a rain gutter, fly again

Pluck berries from shrubs, swallow them whole
As doctors and nurses swoop from bed to bed

Endurance tried by flocks of new patients.
My thoughts long swollen into a single stream

The birds and I, dreaming in the unquiet air
I bury my head in a pillow.

Margaret Koger, a Lascaux Prize finalist, is a school media specialist with a writing habit. She lives near the river in Boise, Idaho. See more of her poetry online at Amsterdam Quarterly, Thimble, Trouvaille Review, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Ponder Savant, Subjectiv, and Last Leaves. Arabella Luna Friedland is a visual artist and writer based in New York City. She’s influenced by a childhood with cartoons, a classical education in anatomy and life drawing, and a firm belief that all art — is a portrait.